The Day it Happened
by Literary Assassin
Summary: Something terrible has happened. Miranda's thoughts as she struggles to cope.


A/N: Hi, so long time no see. Anyone stumbled onto this that is eagerly awaiting a Last Tango in Halifax update. I promise you it's coming. I backed myself into a corner but I think I can see a way out of it now. Anyway. New DWP story. This was written lord knows how long ago, probably while listening to depressing music (maybe So Cold by Ben Cocks feat. Nikisha Reyes-Pille. check out the DWP on YouTube that is to that song. Makes me cry EVERY time)

This has NOT been beta-d. My brilliant beta has enough to be going on without adding another one to it.

Also. If you love DWP and wanna crack at writing or you are a writer that's not quite sure what to do now, head over to the LJ site and sign up for Punky's Fic-a-thon in July. 5000 words on a day of your choosing for July. It's dead easy. I'm already on about 30,000 words. So hop to it.

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The day it happened, Miranda felt her heart stop. She felt the breath leave her body and her blood still and the world around her suddenly went very quiet. It was as if someone had pushed the mute button on life and all she could do was stand in the middle of her office, wondering absently why she needed such an office, why she was working at all.

She could see Nigel. She wondered why his mouth was moving, and no sound was coming out. There was a noise now, a whining in her ears, high pitch and quite painful, even though it wasn't that loud. She held onto it, welcomed it even, thankful that she could feel anything at all. She gripped it, as if it was a physical manifestation of the phantom pain in her chest.

Gone.

The world came back with such a force it knocked her to her knees. She saw the ground coming up to meet her and yet, she did nothing to stop it, nothing could help her now. There was nothing.

Nigel's mouth was moving again, she could see that as she looked up at him, wondering why he was so blurred. She blinked rapidly, looking around quite bewildered about what she was doing on the floor. Emily was there, dear Emily. She was blurred too, and Miranda reached up to her eyes, wondering where she'd put her glasses, realising with muted interest that her face was wet.

She felt like her insides had vanished, not ripped out, she surely would have felt that, but like they'd disappeared, like they had simply become nothing. There was no pain, no noise, no distractions. For the first time in all her life there was silence, and for all her wishing, she didn't want it now. She wanted the noise, she wanted the mess, the sweet, sweet distraction of brown eyes and chocolate hair.

She wanted the mess of books strewn across her bed, she wanted the jeans on the floor and the plates in the sink, she wanted the hair on the bathroom floor and the lights left on in the study. She wanted the quiet whispers in the dead of night, she wanted the gentle pressure of their love, manifested into physicality in the early mornings, when she knew she should have been sleeping. She wanted it all. It had to come back, she needed it. Didn't they know she needed it.

Miranda looked back up at Nigel, no longer blurred, but with his own tears. She could hear something else now, some poor soul was screaming, someone who sounded as pained as she felt, someone who obviously loved _her_ like she had. And when Nigel fell to his knees and wrapped her up in her arms, she realised it was her. It was her own broken voice she could hear, it was her heart breaking in such a vocal explosion.

Gone.

She felt herself being lifted off the floor, and she looked up again, hoping naively that _she_ was there, wrapping her up in _her_ long arms; safe, warm, strong. Nigel's broken eyes stared back at her and the nightmare felt like it would never end. She gripped his shirt, no longer able to care about why she shouldn't, why it was such a good piece, why she shouldn't ruin it. She recognised the elevator. Knew where she was, and as the light flashed on and off, it was as if someone had placed a projector in her head. She saw flashes of their life, flashes of the most perfect thing she'd ever had.

She saw the dinners, she saw the walks in the park, the movie nights, the cake smeared across her nose, the laughter that followed, the wine, then the kiss. The kiss that broke her walls as sure as anything she'd ever known. She saw the dinner with the girls, she saw the tentative introductions, and the cuddles that followed, she saw the genuine happiness on her girls' faces as _she_ paid them every attention. She saw the nights she spent on the phone, listening to _her_ breathe, she saw the gentle caresses on the sofa, and the trail of clothing up the stairs. She saw the rose petals and the ice cubes and the chocolate sauce, she saw the love shining from _her _eyes, the whispered pleas. She saw the utter rapture on _her_ face and saw herself as she'd never seen herself before.

She saw herself smile, saw herself laugh. Picture after picture until she realised they were at the Townhouse. And as the door opened and her daughters wrapped themselves around her body, their tears soaking through her one of a kind shirt. She dropped to her knees once more, her maternal instinct kicking in just enough to wrap them up in her arms and breathe in their scent. She refused to look around. They'd left the house as it was. _She _was coming back after all, and they'd missed _her _even before the flight had left. Cassidy had demanded that nothing change, nothing change until _she_ got back and Miranda had secretly agreed, though she'd picked up the shirt on their bedroom floor, only to put it on at night, while she lay in their bed, all alone.

Nigel helped her up, and then took all three of them upstairs leaving her to stand at her bedroom door, noticing things she'd never noticed before. The pile of books on _her_ side of the bed. The pair of panda earrings that certainly didn't belong on her dresser, and the rose, the rose that had arrived that morning. It was their anniversary tomorrow and _she'd_ made sure to have it delivered on time. _She_ was supposed to be home, supposed to be here. They had to make plans, so many plans.

Miranda wanted to tell _her_ yes to all those things she'd had doubts about. About the renovations, and the puppy and the baby. She wanted all those conversations again, so she could say yes, unreservedly yes. Of course _she_ could have those things, _she_ could have whatever _she_ wanted, _she_ could do whatever it was _she_ wanted, as long as _she_ did it here.

At home.

Refusing to even enter her room, Miranda turned around and walked to Caroline's bedroom. She crawled to the wall, needing the solid contact at her back, needing something holding her up, even when she was lying down. Her babies crawled to her side, gripping her tightly, saying things between sobs that she couldn't interpret.

She cried.

The girls fell asleep, but she couldn't close her eyes; couldn't stand to see what she didn't want to. Her amazing brain was destroying her sanity by providing her with a pictorial explanation for the phone call she received some time before. She had no idea how long ago that was now. She had changed clothes, she knew that, though couldn't remember doing so. She was wearing _her_ sweatshirt. The one she'd sworn she'd thrown out, the one that still smelled of _her_.

She slipped from beneath her daughters and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the fabric up to her nose and taking a deep breath. She wanted _her_ back, she wanted _her_ here. They would say those things they never said to each other, or rather, Miranda would say those things. _She'd_ always been so free with words, and yet Miranda could never bring herself to reciprocate.

How stupid.

She shuffled down the stairs, the pain in her head, equal to that of her chest. It was light outside; too light to be late afternoon and she slumped into a chair in the kitchen, not at all surprised to see Nigel, his 5 o'clock shadow more of an unkempt mess. He looked like hell, and Miranda wondered what she looked like.

She knew it was more than hours. The way Nigel moved about the kitchen it must be days, and yet, she had no concept. No frame of reference. Nothing to give her a reason to watch the time go by.

There was a present on the table, but she refused to look at it. She vaguely remembered hearing something about an anniversary, but that sort of thing was for people who were happy.

She was not happy.

She flinched when the doorbell rang. She wondered vaguely if she'd ever roll her eyes again. _She'd_ always laughed when she'd done it, and so she knew it would never happen again. There was a noise in the hallway, but she didn't get up, she ran her nail along the table, wondering how long it took for wood to age so magnificently. Wondered how long it would take for her heart to do the same.

"Miranda?"

She was dreaming again. _Her_ beautiful voice filled her head and she sighed, closing her eyes and falling into it. There was nothing to do now, but wait for death. Nothing would ever be as good, nothing would ever be as perfect as their time together.

"Baby?"

She could feel herself smiling, and almost feel _her_ hand against her face. The dreams were getting more real and she wondered how close to insanity she was. She didn't care. The longer she got to dream of _her_ the closer she wished to get.

"Open your eyes."

The light filled her senses as a vision appeared before her.

"I'm home."

She could hear the words, but the picture was fuzzy. Her brain was in meltdown as she looked up at the form before her. Where was Nigel?

"Miranda, I'm here. I love you Miranda. I love you so much."

Here.

"And-"

She coughed. Her voice wouldn't work, but she blinked, trying to clear her vision, wondering if she was finally dead. Whether she'd grieved enough that she'd joined _her_.

"I'm here."

"Andréa."

And then _she_ was there. As if _she_ had always been, standing in their kitchen, wearing clothes that didn't belong, a cast on _her_ leg, cuts, bumps and bruises and a sparkle in _her_ eyes that lit up Miranda's world.

"Andréa?"

"I'm here."

And suddenly _she_ was real. Miranda leapt from the chair, suddenly feeling as if she could run the New York Marathon in five minutes. She gripped those strong arms, pulling the body into hers.

"I love you. I love you."

The words mattered to Miranda, though she knew Andréa had already felt it. They mattered. They needed to be said. After three years, they should have been said so much earlier.

"Don't leave, please, please don't leave, not ever, not again."

She could feel Andréa shaking and all her strength leave her as they leant against the wall. They slid down it, coming to rest in the doorway with Miranda's legs wrapped around Andréa's torso. Her arms gripped Andréa's shoulder and her hand entwined in tresses that were filthy, and grimy and disgusting, but it didn't matter. She pressed her face into her neck, felt the warm breath leave a mark on her skin.

"I'm never leaving you Miranda. I told you that at the start."

Miranda looked up and met those eyes she'd missed so much.

"I love you."

Repetition guaranteed reception and Andréa smiled.

The world was better. It didn't matter what had happened, didn't matter who had died. She was here, in her arms, in their kitchen in their house.

"Marry me."

The press of lips was enough to set Miranda off. The tears rolled down as she sucked and licked and pressed. She couldn't get enough and it seemed as if Andréa was of the same view. They kissed until their couldn't breathe, pulling back enough to rest their foreheads together and stare in each other's eyes.

"I want it. I want it all, the renovations, the puppy, the baby. I want whatever you want. I'm so sorry. Sorry for everything. Just, don't leave. Please don't leave."

"I'm not leaving. I will never leave you Miranda."

"I was so cold."

"I'm here to keep you warm now."

"The girls."

"Shh. We'll work it out."

"I need."

"I know."

"Stay."

"Forever."


End file.
